A Boy Named Handro
by Everlane
Summary: A teacher gets taught a difficult lesson when she tries to instill her judgement on her student.


_Disclaimer: I don't own Glee._

**...**

**A Boy Named Handro**

He's not like the way most people want kids they stereotype to act like. Hoping that their respectful enough to not rouse anymore judgment from others. But Handro is like any other normal boy, who played with trucks and pulled long hair as an indirect way of telling the girl that he liked her. He's also the little kid who gave this same girl his own seat, before roughly pushing her brother back when he tried to sit next to his sister. He was the budding jock in the entire class, with dark hair curled into a messy hawk and eyes that seemed to make even the teachers coo over the charming toddler.

He played with his building blocks and small toy cars, making swishing noises with his friends during playtime. He always greeted her when she arrived to teach, tossing her a wide smile. It's hard trying to have any ounce of hatred for this kid, or think much about the fact that his so called parents were one of the wealthiest couple in New York. A_ dyke_ couple.

_Look._ She came from a small town that didn't like stuff like that. All the way from Province, Utah. At eighteen, she ran away from home to live in a better setting, a place where she wasn't reminded of the repressive environment her parents subjected her to.

So she's been here for three years, half accepting of everyone here and half disgusted by how no person in this place seemed to be guided by morals.

God, she hoped this school year would end soon, because she honestly didn't know what to think about this kid. This kid who seemed so damn normal compared to the way she pictured him to be. She expressed her concerns to one of the faculty members, who also agreed with what she had to say. That New York needed to take a second look at the way these people were living and overstepping traditional boundaries. They had no right to get married or have kids like the little boy here. Children deserved to grow up in a moral home, not in a dysfunctional one like Handro's own.

Everyday his nanny came to pick him up, smiling shyly before leaving the premises. Sometimes she'd ask questions that would make anyone feel uncomfortable, but the ginger haired college student always looked at her as if she was the dumbest woman in the universe, and laughed his way out of the room. This always made her scratch the back of her head. She's been trying to know more about this boy's mothers and how he's so normal, but the nanny always warned her about opening her mouth before she wished she hadn't.

Maybe she isn't so half accepting then just because she happened to find more equal terms with the minority here. Maybe she needed a double check, because _perhaps _the nanny was right that she didn't know what she was talking about. Heck, she's never even met the elusive entertainment lawyer or the Broadway star who's all over television, billboards, and shit. So what the hell is she trying to say?

She noted that Handro was one of the few kids left, and he conversed in his baby talk with one of the other kids, Micheal Travis, the grandson of business mogul, Donald Travis. Later on the boy's father picked him up, thanking her for taking care of him, and Handro was left. The phone ringed, pulling her from watching Handro play with his toys. She picked up the phone, expecting to hear Handro's nanny announce he was on his way, but another voice spoke.

"I'm on my way,"

"Sure. He's right here." She said.

The line clicked close, and she sat back in her seat. She watched the boy again, sipping her coffee nearby before writing in her journal. Everything seemed peaceful, and quiet, like back home by the lake not too far from her house. She liked that lake. She continued writing, not watching little Handro shoot up from his spot to look out the window. It took his screams of _mama _and her more alert brain to realize that the woman who spoke to her over the phone may have been Rachel Berry. The sound of her voice wasn't as light and airy as the one she heard on interviews and watched on television. Ginger finally happened to tell the woman of her. Figures.

She looked out the window, stunned by the wave of paparazzi following the brunette walking up the stairs into the school with her guards nearby. The woman was wearing a dark trench coat over something bright. A fuchsia shift that happened to cling to her body, with deadly platform heels that didn't seem to be killing her. She now knew why this woman was often called the Goddess of Broadway.

She walked like one, smiled like one, and even talked like one. But her voice over the phone said differently, it spoke of another side to the Rachel Berry that didn't like her being teacher to her son.

The sounds of clicking grew louder, along with the hard clicks of heels against marbled floors.

The door opened, and the boy propelled right into his mother's arms. Rachel Berry won him over with a bright smile that told the teacher where he got his own charming one. She pecked all over his cheeks, wrapping him up in a warm hug. From a distance, she couldn't hear the woman whisper in another language to her son, who clutched onto his mother as if she would disappear if he let go.

Then the woman looked at her.

"You're the one they called Ms. Piers?" She asked, and the teacher nodded, too stunned to say anything else. Rachel Berry was smaller than she expected, but more frightening now that she was so up close.

"Flora Jane Piers?"

"Uh. Yes."

Rachel nodded slowly, warm chocolate eyes gleaming dangerously under long lashes. "Roger told me what you'd ask him whenever he picked my son up."

"I didn't really mean-"

"There's no need for an explanation." Rachel interrupted, stroking her son's hair. "Not doing that again would be a much better way to apologize. However, I can't afford to place my son in an environment where his own teacher constantly questions how he's still a _normal _child despite his peculiar background."

She gently ushered Handro out of the room to stand with one of the guards, walking purposefully over to his small locker to retrieve his bag and other supplies. She was taking everything, meaning that Flora wouldn't be seeing Handro anytime soon. The brunette then walked up to the taller one, stopping just a few inches from her. _Aren't those heels killing her? _Rachel Berry smiled softly, chestnut waves neatly groomed an rested over her shoulders. She was a goddess, but had the ability to make her angelic demeanor demonic if she could.

"Consider yourself very lucky that I had to convince my wife to stay home, because she was eager to meet you, Ms. Piers." She said, wafting of sweet perfume that drugged the teacher.

"And be a bit more appreciative that I'm kind enough to leave you with one tip. The next time you want to judge someone, try a bit more harder to be careful of who you're doing it to. Do you understand me?"

Flora nodded, "I get it."

"You better."

When the mother and son duo walked down the hall, Flora's chest clenched when the little boy turned back around and dug his heels on the floor. His mother let him go when he run back towards his room, taking the teacher off guard by hugging her tightly. He was such a sweet boy.

She hugged him back and accepted his parting words of goodbye, letting him go as he rushed back to his mother. She watched the boy's hand clasp with his mother's, remembering a time where she wanted to do the same thing with her father, who told her to get out of his sight. What was she thinking indeed.

_This kid was better off._


End file.
